In the Moon of Red Ponies (Billy Bob Holland 4)

It was too much for coincidence, Darrel thought. The B&E report from Ravalli County had been put on his desk because of a possible tie-in between ecoterrorists, Indians, and Darrel’s arrest of Johnny American Horse. Now Lundstrum’s name had surfaced in the same investigation. He called Blue Mountain Security and asked to speak to her.

“This is she. Who’s calling, please?” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Detective Darrel McComb, with the Missoula County Sheriff’s Department. I’d appreciate your coming into the office for an interview,” he replied.

“You would appreciate what?”

“We’ve been investigating a group of Native American environmental activists for some time.” He positioned the B&E report by the phone so he could see it more clearly. “We think they may be involved with the burglary of the Global Research facility. Your company handles security for them, doesn’t it?”

“McComb? You’re the detective who followed me to Senator Finley’s house?”

“That’s incorrect, ma’am. My concern there was about an ex-convict by the name of Wyatt Dixon, who was watching the Finleys’ home. I believe you have a past relationship with Dixon, don’t you?”

He could almost hear her heart beating through the phone receiver. “Ma’am?” he said.

Then she surprised him. “Unfortunately, I did know him. About two years back. A brief and mistaken relationship, if you get my meaning. Now, what the hell is this about?” she said.

“I’d rather talk to you in person. I’ll drive down there,” he replied.

“Suit yourself,” she said, and hung up.

Now, there’s a woman who wrote her own rule book, he thought. The kind, as Rocky used to say, who would read your mind, slap your face, then ask you to stay over for breakfast.

It took him only a half hour to drive to her security service. In the background the Bitterroot Mountains rose high into the heavens, the dark green of the timber marbled with new snow. He liked being down in the valley, away from university and liberal influences, among people who were of a mind similar to his own. It was going to be a fine day in all respects, he told himself.

Greta Lundstrum came out of her cubicle as soon as she saw him through the glass partition, her wide-set eyes fixed on his. “So what do you need from me, Detective?” she asked.

The boldness of her stare was at first disconcerting. Long ago, in his dealings as a police officer, Darrel had concluded that aggressive female business executives fell into one category only: their authority and their successful imposition of it were entirely dependent upon their ability to destroy any male challenge to it.

“The people who broke into Global Research called in the password after they cut the telephone line,” he said. “Do you—”

“I’ve pulled the files on all our ex-employees,” she interrupted. “Two of them are people I fired for coming to work with alcohol on their breath. One of them is an Indian. He still lives in Missoula. The other man moved out of state.”

“The password didn’t necessarily have to come from an ex-employee,” Darrel said.

“If you mean one of our current employees might have given it out, yes, that could have happened. But it didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they’ve been with me for years and they have no motivation for betraying me or the client. Come into my office and sit down,” she said.

His eyes slipped down her back, her hips, and rump as he followed her into her cubicle. “You know a woman named Temple Holland?” she said. She sat forward in her swivel chair, her elbows on the desk, her back stiff.

“She’s a P.I., the wife of a local attorney,” Darrel replied.

“Why did you tell her you were following me?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why did she tell me that?”

“My guess is, she and her husband want to cause trouble. He’s the lawyer for an Indian named Johnny American Horse,” Darrel said. He looked at the hardness in her green eyes and the set in her jaw. He decided to test her affinities. “I arrested American Horse for attempted assault on a law officer. During that arrest I hit him several times with a blackjack. Mr. and Mrs. Holland aren’t fans of mine.”

Her expression showed no reaction. “You think this man American Horse is involved with the break-in?” she asked.

“Hard to say. He’s cut out of different cloth,” Darrel replied.

“In what way?”